


blue diamond

by Enderwoah



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: And thus, Basically, Can you tell that this is Tubbo whump?, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Psychological Torture, Sad Toby Smith | Tubbo, Scared Toby Smith | Tubbo, Sorry Not Sorry, The Crimson (Dream SMP), Toby Smith | Tubbo Has a Bad Time, Toby Smith | Tubbo Needs a Hug, Toby Smith | Tubbo in a Box, Whump, i saw that there was little to no tubbo whump and said "well that can't be right", im so bad at tagging all of a sudden, this is just painful for tubbo all around honestly, um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 07:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30068787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enderwoah/pseuds/Enderwoah
Summary: The Egg does not like Tubbo. It thinks he is a factor keeping it from TommyInnit, and if it can get to TommyInnit, it can get to the entire server.It just needs to get through to Tubbo first.
Relationships: Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 4
Kudos: 150





	blue diamond

Tubbo _definitely_ shouldn’t have taken off his hazmat suit.

It’s not like he didn’t have a backup plan if things went horribly wrong -- a contingency plan, as he had called it. But it's a little hard to remember what that was even supposed to be when he's feeling more emotions at once than he's ever felt in his life before.

The garbled words that echo within his mind as soon as his helmet is off are loud and resounding enough to knock him off of his feet. His breath hitches as his brain slowly starts to translate, the English overlapping with the egg's speech creating an even more overwhelming experience.

And things it _says,_ they terrify him, it's as if every single negative thought or feeling or emotion that he's _ever_ had rises to the surface and pushes out to the forefront of his mind. Things he never wanted to remember or think about again are forcefully yanked into the spotlight, and if he wasn't the most resilient kid on the planet, aside from Tommy, it probably would have broken him immediately.

But it doesn't.

_Ṯ̸̏o̵̟͐m̵̱m̴͍̾y̵̟͝ ̶͕̋h̵̆ͅa̵̢͘t̵̤͐e̵̥͘ś̶͉ ̸͎̊ÿ̶͉́o̷͕͘ų̸͛.̸̠͛_

It's the first thought that comes, it's the loudest, and it's the most painful. It repeats over and over and over and Tubbo feels the tears rising to his eyes and sting and burn more than they usually would. They don't stop after that.

_D̴̓͜r̷̘̆e̷͈̓å̶̙m̷̥͛ ̵͉̌c̴͓̓o̶̞͛ṷ̶̒l̵͖̓ḓ̸ ̸̟͝ḧ̴͕́á̴̜v̵̧͊e̵̟̓ ̸̳̃k̴̠̒i̴̱͐l̶͔̇l̸͇̓é̸͔d̸̥̅ ̷̤͠y̴̛̪ó̵̪u̸̳͠.̸̥͛_

_̶̰̊D̷̪͝ṙ̵͎ě̷͕a̵͖͆m̵̥̆ ̶͎w̷̫o̸̪͝u̵̩l̵̩͒d̵̝͗ ̵̯̓h̴̢̽a̶͎̓v̸͆͜e̸̠̓ ̷͎̽ḳ̸̈ỉ̸̗l̶̗̋l̵̞͝e̵̺̕d̵͈͐ ̸̥̏ỳ̵̠ő̸͓u̸̞̓.̶̭̌_

_̶̫̒D̷̖͝r̸̞̿ḛ̴̓a̴͍̕m̴̪͗ ̸̝͊s̶͈͑h̶͍͋ǒ̵̳ǘ̶̲ļ̶̂d̶͉̔ ̴̺͊h̵͎͋a̴͈͠v̵͎̈́ḙ̵͗ ̶̺͒k̴̰̍i̸̺͂l̴̠̏l̴͕͘e̵͍͝d̶̺̐ ̶͙̾y̷̭͑o̶̺̽u̵ͅ.̶͉͛_

_̶̖̿T̶̠͌e̷͈͆c̴̱̎h̴͔͠n̶͔͋ő̶̤ ̸̟̽s̶̳̉h̵͍̔o̸̬̊ū̴̧l̷̲̾d̸̮́ ̵̪̌h̷̉ͅa̴̮͘v̶̤͆e̵͕̔ ̷͉̍k̷̨̎i̸̯̓l̵͉͒l̴̾͜e̸̢̕d̶̙̊ ̸͉̏y̸̮͝o̴̲̊u̵̘͐.̴̲̃_

_̴̝̌W̴̙̌i̷̪̚l̸̗̂b̸̟̍u̸̥̾r̶͎̎ ̶̯͂w̶̖͑a̵̹͂n̷̗͘t̵̮̚e̷͇̊d̷͙̈́ ̸̫̑y̵̢͆o̶̢͛ū̸̢ ̸̙t̷̨̆ō̶̰ ̴̮͝s̶̪̍ů̷̧f̶̣͑f̶̡̆e̷͓̚r̸̘̓.̵̢̾_

_̴̡͐Y̷̻̓ò̶̘u̷͙͗ ̴̌͜h̵̙̑ủ̷͓ŗ̷̈t̸͉̓ ̸̥̃e̷̗͘v̷͈͠ḙ̷r̸̘̍y̵͓͛ọ̵͑n̶̳̊e̴͕͆.̵͔̋_

_̷̞̽Y̸̛̝ó̷̢u̷͔͗'̴͌͜ĺ̶̲l̵̨͌ ̵̰̀k̸̋͜ĭ̵̥l̷͓͂l̴̛̹ ̵̣͂e̸̫̐v̶̢̅ě̸̼ŕ̵͚y̶̱̆o̴̤͂n̸̗̓ẻ̶͍.̵̘̆_

_̶̯̈́Y̴͍̿ȯ̵̤u̴͎̾ ̷̤͘h̵̰͗u̶̡͗r̶̫̊t̵̤̐ ̸͖͊T̶̼͆o̶̳͂m̶̞͆m̴̹̋ŷ̵̯.̶̘͝_

_̶̛̤S̶̩͝c̸͓͆h̴͉̚l̴̟̾á̵̳t̷̡t̸̢̅ ̷̕ͅh̵̬̀ų̷̿r̴̠͑t̶̗̀ ̴̹̕y̵̤̏ô̴̖ư̶̗.̸̠͐_

_̷̩̊Ÿ̶͇o̴̝̚u̵̜̔'̴͙̍ŕ̷͎e̷̥͒ ̸͙w̵͈̽ȅ̶͎a̵͇k̴̛͙.̵̺͆_

_̸͖̿Y̵̳͆ọ̶̋ų̶̍'̶͍̅r̷̼é̴̜ ̷̗̄u̴̖̎s̵͕̒e̴̜͋l̶͖̋e̷̢̍s̷̖͐s̴̩̋.̶̼̓_

_̶̬̋Y̴̥͝ȏ̷̡u̶̫̇ ̷̹͝s̷̛̼h̷̟̅o̸̠̕ṵ̷́ḽ̷͠ḏ̷́n̶̯͌'̶̬̈t̵̙͒ ̶̲̒b̶̭̑e̸̩͗ ̸̲͒a̸͕͊l̷̹̑l̴͓̈o̶̪̿w̷̧͊ė̶͓d̵͎̿ ̶̥̚ẗ̴͈o̵̙͆ ̸̝̓h̵̗̎ŭ̷̹r̶͓̀ṭ̶́ ̴̛͙ą̴̅n̶̹͆y̸̳͠ ̸̹̃m̴̰̓o̸̡̓r̶̢͆e̵̹͠ ̴͕͂p̷̠̕e̴̺̕o̶̰͝p̴̬̈l̷̲̅e̶̫̅.̵̡̐_

Tubbo doesn't register the first sob, nor the second or third or many after – it takes him a few moments of the largest tears he's ever seen falling from his face in large, visible globs before he realizes just how messed up he is. His fingernails dig into the front of his shirt as his entire body tremors with each wail, his eyes burning to the point where some of the tears might actually be from the pain.

His vision swims and morphs into nothing but a sea of red and gray. He hears something, a different voice among the noise, calling his name. He feels a hand on his shoulder, and from its stems a sizzling, hot burn that makes him scream and makes the voices louder and louder and louder and --

_Ṭ̷̨̳̌̈͌̄Ȯ̴̡̞̱̳̀̌͋M̴͕͇̗̉Ḿ̷̼͖͓Y̷̢̺̺̮̎͘͠ ̷͍̳̈́͜H̷̭͛̔̋͝A̴̝̦̗̘͛T̴̨̠̬̜́̏̋Ĕ̶̺̜̥͘S̷̙̬̘̘̒̒ ̵̧̽͒ỵ̸̔͌̔o̵̩̳͋̏u̴͕͙̹͝.̸͈̩̔̑̈ͅ_

_̸͉͕̼̄Ţ̷͇͚͕̄̈́̋O̴̳̭̙̭̽̃M̷͍̟̀̈́͜͜͝M̶̮͌̃͑͝Y̸̰̖̆̓̇̈́ ̶̲͑͗̾͠w̴̯̑i̸̳̭̲͊̒̍̉s̵͔̹̈́̈́͆h̸̥̭̒̿ë̷̤s̴̡̾͆̈́͘ ̵̗͘y̴̧̭̍̆͠o̸̰͐u̸̙͈͒̈́ͅ ̸͉̃̂͠w̴̩̜̲̟̃͝ḛ̴̹̠̗͑r̴̭͎͌̎̾̒ĕ̵̲̒̇ ̸̩̬̺͗͒̕D̴̈́̆̔ͅĔ̷̢̞͖͐̌A̷͖̋̈́̂͋D̸̲̗̝̔̈́̿.̶͓͉̝̽͆͜_

_̶̨̈́͆͠T̸̥͓͘͠Ǫ̵̛̖̭M̶̰̱̍̇̎M̶̥̤̔͠Y̴̠͊͗ ̵̠̌W̴̭̯̰̉͋Į̶̢̮͆̀̂̈͜S̴̛͙͖̫̊̑ͅH̵̦̬̑̒Ë̴̢̛́S̴̮̩̣͂̕ ̴̱̬͚̞̎̂̊h̴̲̣̤̓͝e̵̢̮̮̞̍̾ ̸̰͕͔̈́̍̅c̵̖͔͎̆̇̆o̶͕̰͋͠ų̵̯͈͗̓̉̉ĺ̶̺̓͌d̴͕̘͑͝͝ ̵̫͌k̴̮̪̙̠̐̊͝i̵͇̿̊͒ļ̷̧̖̏̾͋͂l̷̪̻̟͚̒̍ ̷͉̻̣̋y̴̜͚̫̠͘o̶̝̱̫͉͛̑͌u̸̝̞̤̅.̸̘̯͖̪́͐͝_

_̶̟̯͈̆T̶͉̝͒̐O̶͈̼̊M̷̬̣̥̄̆͐M̴̙̖̿͐ͅY̷̪̮̾͂́͛ ̵̡̠̮̺̄͊̔̕w̴͇̣̋̀i̴͖͉͑͌͌̓s̸̥̣̀ͅh̴̨̞̮̲͆͗̄̿ẽ̸̢̯͙s̸͙͇̖̀̚ ̴̦̻̮͍̾̄͊D̷̰̦̺͉̈R̴̨̢̹͈͘Ě̴͙̜̥̩͐Ả̶̡̘͇͜M̸͖̕ ̸̻̒k̶̘͇̓̓͂͠i̴̼̐̌l̵̗̮̼̅l̷̖̝͝e̶̛̻̤̻̳d̵̪͖̮̤̽̔̈́͝ ̸̮̱̼̋̍̔̏y̶̝͂̕ó̸͔̹̺̓͐͠u̴̘͚̓.̶̬͉͖̿͌͝_

_̸̖̥̎͆̇͝T̴̮͌̕Ö̵͔̩͕́͑̌̈́M̶̟̯͂͜M̸͚̄͗Y̶̡̰̼͛͑̾ ̷͕͎͌͌ņ̶̠̈e̷̯̍̓̒͝v̴͚̓̽̐̊ẽ̷͓̺̑͘r̷̲͍͐ ̶̝̆l̴̪̱̘̩̇̋̒į̶̠̫̃̉̇k̵̙͓̣̺͆e̵͚̹̽̕d̸͓̯̤͌͂ ̸̻̳̥̦͌͆̓ŷ̵̡̥͎͠o̶̢̐̈̊u̶̥͋̓̒.̵̡͉̒͋͜_

_̶̧̹̑̾̑T̷͉̬̑͠͝͝O̶̧̹̜͛̀̽M̶͎͓͈̏M̸̡͌̔̈Y̶͈̻̗͙̾͋͗̇ ̴̢̀̓Ṉ̷̢̛͇̋E̶̗̫̥̐V̶̧̖̟̅E̸̳̅̉͊͋R̸̢̖̱̼͠ ̴̤̇͝͠l̶͍͖̜͌̄̽i̴̛͙͗̇̾k̴͖̣̈́̉́e̵̙̯̓̀͐͘ḑ̸̨̑̈́̾͜ͅ ̸̡̗̰̦̀̈́̾y̶̩͑ö̸͉̮́̑̇͝ữ̵̰.̴̢̜̌_

_̵̂T̷̡̛̤̝̈́͑Ö̵͈͓̩̓̍Ṁ̷̢̺̟̯͝M̶̺̙͓̽̀Y̶͈̪͗ ̶̯̀̽̊͋N̴͇͂̍̕̕Ḗ̸̮̜͔V̸̢̫̝̗̆̐E̷͍̖͊̇R̷͓̎ ̴̟̱͛̈́̇̃L̴̘̬̒͜I̷͖̿͗͜K̶͚̣̄̇ͅE̸̯̘̳̜͊D̶̖̰̜͋͑͐ ̴̜͓̽͘ͅY̴̗̭͙͎̅O̸̹̱̻̦̓̚U̷̻͊̈͠.̵̦̖̗̝̎̌_

Tubbo's knees buckle, and when Tommy catches him from falling, his grip on the shorter boy's arms only burn and make the voices louder. He takes in gulping breaths between the sobs that rack his body and make him physically unable to form any coherent thoughts of his own.

And then it lets up. It isn't gone by any means, but he can hear Tommy frantically calling his name as his scorching touch maneuvers to his hand. Tubbo ignores the pain and the steady crescendo of the voices and burns and squeezes it back.

"Tubbo, when I say so, I am going to lead you out of here, okay, we need to run, _right fuckin’ now.”_

 _Run?_ Tubbo wonders hazily. _Why do we need to --_

He looks up, and he sees through blurry tears Bad’s glowing white eyes and Ant’s sharp purple ones.

A sharp pain makes him cry out and he collapses yet again, this time Tommy being unable to catch him fast enough. His knees collide forcefully with the particularly rough vines at his feet, and he has to keep himself from falling over completely. He feels light-headed and dizzy from the crying, and yet the freakishly large tears show no signs of stopping. Some far-off, untouched, secluded part of his brain considers drinking it before he shrivels up like a raisin from the lack of water.

Tommy suddenly grips Tubbo’s arm and yanks him to his feet, sending in another, far more intense swarm of voices through his mind, and he can’t stop himself from wrenching his arm away with a stumble, shrieking, _“Tommy stop touching me please God it_ _hurts_ _\--”_ and taking in a shuddering breath. He doesn’t get to see Tommy’s reaction because the voices immediately spike in volume and tone --

_H̶̛͔̤͙̽̚̚ͅê̷̪̐͘ ̴̧̰͍̿̌̾t̴̛͉͈̏͘h̷̝̪̀ͅi̵͕͌n̶̹̼̿͌̽̕k̵̤̐̓͠s̸͕̓̈́ ̷̄͒̕ͅy̵͈͆̂ọ̶̃͝ȗ̴̧̡̻͚͒̽͘’̸̏̅̅ͅr̷̩͆̒͠e̷̲̬͗̓͂́ ̴̢͇̩̕ǎ̷͚̄͊ ̸̨̩͈̾F̵̨̨͛̎̈́R̴̝̩̝̙͊̈E̷̠͔̯̍̔Ḁ̶̢̗̰̑̋K̸̲͚͔̅͒̋.̴̘͙̺̒_

_̵̘͍̟̝̽Ḥ̴̳͉̯͆̊̿ȇ̷̡̛̩͉̰͗ ̷͈̖̫̎͠ȟ̷̢̫̗̩̐a̷̱̻̻̽t̵̘͉̙̽e̸̯̱̗̾̇̋͋s̶͍̲̹̲͌ ̵̠͈̖̘̍̊y̸̼͖̰̩͆o̷̝͋ȕ̸̬̗̮ ̸͙͕͐̽M̴̧̗̝̮̈̚O̴̫͍͍̪͘R̴̨͕̚Ȇ̶̤͘.̶̨̫̈͜_

_̸͈̱̀͋̊͠H̸̤͂̃͝e̴͎̦̿ͅ ̷̢̲͎̘͑͋͝w̵̧̪͔͛̔ͅä̵̻͜n̶̙͐ṯ̷̅̾͝͠s̸̘̗͖̃̎̽ ̵̘̮̂͋͜ẙ̵̟͈ǒ̴̢̞̲̦͗̔ȕ̵̩͈̞̩͝ ̸͉̺̫͆̐͘̚͜D̷̢͐̏̇̕Ĕ̷̢͍̄A̸̙̓͐̌D̵̤͒̔̀.̵̤͚̘̫͌_

\-- and he clamps his eyes shut and presses his hands against his ears, his elbows coming together as he lowers his head and somehow cries even harder.

He hears Tommy shout and his head snaps up to see the sixteen-year-old on the ground a few feet away, Antfrost standing menacingly above him with a trident in hand. Tubbo takes a weak, wobbly step towards his best friend before suddenly hearing blocks being placed behind him. He turns around and is met with a small obsidian box with Bad standing next to it, who juts a thumb towards it and says, “Get in.”

His mind ignores Tommy’s and his own exclamations. His body jerks forward against his will and he trips, tumbling gracelessly into the small box made for him. He sits in defeat as obsidian grows around him, encasing him completely and leaving him in total darkness. He would have been too weak to get out in time anyways.

Everything, even his mind, is silent for just one moment. The eye of the storm.

And then it stops only being negative _thoughts._

Bile rises in Tubbo’s throat as he’s hit with a wave of nausea, the acidic feeling tearing at his already burning his windpipe and feeding the general pain crashing over his body more...as if it needed the help.

Fatigue overwhelms the boy and he starts to slide down the walls of the box, his arms pressed against each other in front of his face and his eyes wide open as he trembles. His breath comes in hiccups and his chest aches for a break, his eyes burn from his salty tears being mixed with the spores in the air and his limbs are heavy. (He doesn’t even notice the small beam of light that suddenly leaks from a tiny, tiny hole in the obsidian.)

Unfortunately, that isn't the worst of it, no. The worst of it causes him to start screaming.

Suddenly and with no warning, Tubbo feels a sort of pain that he'd hoped, he _prayed_ that he'd never have to feel again -- the unmistakable feeling of being ripped apart from the inside out by a firework. And this time, it lasts. It lasts for so much longer than it should.

Tubbo's screams rip and claw his throat, the phantom pains (though they don't feel "phantom" at all) burrowing into his chest and stomach and tearing everything inside two pieces without any sort of reservations. His hands crawl up to his hair and yank at his brown locks, trying to redirect some of the pain up there or distract himself, but it just makes it worse. He can't seem to let go, though, for the feeling of being in control of at least _some_ of this pain is enough to make him subconsciously unable to let his hair alone.

The pain hardly stops there, though. His arms and legs begin to collectively lose feeling, being left with nothing but a numb static and the feeling of his entire torso being exploded and having his face completely scorched off. And then the burning comes, and Tubbo nearly passes out from this sudden feeling that encompasses him, but his brain won't (can't) let him rest.

And as the pain and the burning and the scorching and the ripping and the tearing and the stupid fucking _voices_ continue, Tubbo can vaguely feel the egg pressing for more to hurt him with, more to _break_ him with. He can feel the vines wrapping around his brain and pushing them into the folds, and then it's shut off and is immediately replaced with something else.

Tubbo starts to scream but is silenced. He can feel -- he can feel it, it's _there,_ there's _no way_ it isn't there -- a cold blade pierce his chest and go straight through, cutting through his lungs none-too-quickly, and exiting the back all at a steady pace. He chokes on blood that isn't there, and he faintly thinks that this is the worst of it before the vines press further and he remembers that the sword had Fire Aspect.

("Why did he go quiet, why did he _FUCKIN'_ go quiet, Bad?!"

The man in question smiles and shrugs, throwing a piece of obsidian back and forth between his hands. "You hear him screaming, Tommy? Do you hear him crying, begging for help?" As if on cue, Tubbo starts to scream again, louder than it had been before, and Tommy's heart lurches. He lunges at Bad, who only takes a single step backward and laughs as Sam grabs onto his shirt to stop him from doing anything he'd regret. Bad revels in the sorrow. His grin is sadistic and wide. "That's what we want to hear from you, Tommy."

Tommy shakes his head and takes a step away. "You're crazy."

"All must love or hate the egg, Tommy."

"No," Sam mutters. The man in green and gold had been looking conflicted up to that moment, but he seems to come to a conclusion. "I can't let you get hurt."

He grabs the hem of Tommy's shirt and starts to pull the boy, who immediately starts to kick, thrash, and scream bloody murder. _"WHAT THE HELL, YOU RACCOON-LOOKING FUCK, LET ME GO!"_

"This isn't a _joke,_ Tommy!" Comes the rushed and exasperated reply. "You and Tubbo are on one life, I'm not taking these chances!"

"No-No! I'm immune, I'm immune to the egg, dickhead, we're not just gonna leave Tubbo behind!"

"I'm not leaving him behind," Sam snaps, making his way through the tunnel back, Bad and Ant on their heels. "I'm getting _you_ to safety, first."

"No, Sam, stop it, seriously, _please,_ Tubbo is more important --"

 _"_ _Shut up,_ don't say that, I'm getting you out of here right. Now."

Tommy, with no response to that, Resorts back to thrashing against the wardens will to no avail. He curses -- he curses Sam, he curses Bad, Ant, the egg, the vines, and he curses himself.

Sam has to come back for his other half.)

Tubbo's wails of agony have since died down to incomprehensible mutters, whimpers, pleas to a god that isn't there. The pain has been fluctuating, switching between the worst he's ever felt, combining them, isolating certain parts of them as if his nerves are playing a mix-and-match game.

The only thing that is constant is the tears. Not the crying, but the tears. If he dies from nothing else, it'll be the dehydration that gets to him. Though something tells him that if he runs out of tears, The Crimson won't hesitate to use something else that is...readily available.

The Crimson gets bored. Very easily. And once it's exploited all of Tubbo's body and mind and broken them down to but dust on the road after God-knows-how-long, it needs something else. It pokes and prods and infests, and Tubbo is positive that he can feel its thorns growing from the vines in his brain.

And then he feels the glee of finding a new plaything, and then he feels nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

The voices leave, the pain evaporates, but it continues. He can't feel the obsidian or the vine beneath his feet, he can't hear anything at all, not even the high-pitched ringing that usually accompanies one in silence. The tears still run down his face, but he can't see them.

There is nothing. The last voice he heard echoes around in his mind is the only thing he can physically think about, clearer than any of the other statements:

_T̴o̸m̶m̵y̷ ̶a̶b̴a̷n̸d̴o̸n̶e̶d̶ ̸y̵o̸u̷._

And Tubbo's spirit starts to shatter also.

The quiet is maddening, the lack of feeling, soul-crushing, and the seventeen-year-old finds himself doing anything to try and regain his senses. He screams until his throat is raw and he hears none of it. He raps his knuckles against the hard rock until they bleed and feels no blood running down his forearm. He kicks, he punches, he yells, he knocks, and after all else, he cries.

He cries for minutes, hours, days, eons. He cries until he truly hears nothing, not even the echoes of The Crimson itself. He cries until exhaustion starts to take over and his eyes droop, but the egg keeps him conscious. He cries for Tommy. He cries for Sam.

He cries for a savior.

He cries until he hears vines crunching underfoot.

The boy, as soon as the sound registers (sound, how long has it been?), jolts up from his position and begins to scream, his voice painful to use, gravelly and cracking. Tubbo remains uncaring. "TOMMY? S -- TOMMY? SAM? I-I'M IN HERE, PLEASE!" His voice breaks, and all he can manage is a painful, weak, "Help me…"

Tubbo watches with the first bit of Hope in his heart as the obsidian block in front of him begins to break, slowly but surely. He has to tell Sam to lock those psychos away in prison, he has to get Tommy to destroy the egg, the server needs to be _aware_ of this monstrosity. He'll get help as soon as he can.

The block breaks, and Tubbo looks up.

Bad looks down, a playful smile dancing eyes dark lips as his amused, blank eyes bore to Tubbo's broken and terrified ones.

"Hello, Tubbo," says the demon mockingly. "Were you expecting me?"

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I posted this quite a but ago as a drabble in my drabble book (shameless self-promotion!), but went back to read it and realized that I'm proud of it. So here!


End file.
